When the silent film star Rudolph Valentino died in 1926, thousands gathered in the streets of New York in such an excitable state that a riot broke out, injuring 100 people. It was a leading indicator that the medium and its stars held Americans in thrall.
Randy Pausch's death on Friday provides an example of how we'll mourn the passing of the internet famous. Pausch gained celebrity with his exceptional and touching “Last Lecture," which he delivered after he'd been diagnosed with fatal pancreatic cancer.
When news of Pausch's passing surfaced, the internet lit up with tens of thousands of Tweets and blog posts. Google even added a small tribute to the man on its main search page. But most fascinating and perhaps heartfelt were the grief-stricken comments that run for pages after every obituary or blog post bearing his name.
This massive outpouring of grief is now inscribed across all media silos and geographies, respecting no particular corporate or institutional demarcations. There is no official place for expressing sorrow, no central control of this mourning. Taken as a whole, it shows that the internet has begun to alter how we mourn the dead, probably the deepest, oldest tradition of civilization. And in the process, it's revealed the extent of the flash-community of Randy-lovers, URLs linked like the arms of the marchers who grieved in the streets of Atlanta in the wake of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s death.
I had the sad task of writing one of the many obituaries for Pausch. Within minutes, comments started to come in with a curious grammar like this one from Colleen:
I am real sorry for your loss Jai. Your husband have [sic] inspired me to be a better version of myself. After I heard about Randy's passing, I couldn't help but cry. The whole world is mourning with you.
These comments weren't about Pausch's death. They were addressed to him and his kin, as if Wired.com would convey this message to them. It's as if the internet has joined the angels in our collective imagination of heaven, the CAT-5 winding into the clouds like a beanstalk.
This was strange.
Randy Pausch's death on Friday provides an example of how we'll mourn the passing of the internet famous. Pausch gained celebrity with his exceptional and touching “Last Lecture," which he delivered after he'd been diagnosed with fatal pancreatic cancer.
When news of Pausch's passing surfaced, the internet lit up with tens of thousands of Tweets and blog posts. Google even added a small tribute to the man on its main search page. But most fascinating and perhaps heartfelt were the grief-stricken comments that run for pages after every obituary or blog post bearing his name.
This massive outpouring of grief is now inscribed across all media silos and geographies, respecting no particular corporate or institutional demarcations. There is no official place for expressing sorrow, no central control of this mourning. Taken as a whole, it shows that the internet has begun to alter how we mourn the dead, probably the deepest, oldest tradition of civilization. And in the process, it's revealed the extent of the flash-community of Randy-lovers, URLs linked like the arms of the marchers who grieved in the streets of Atlanta in the wake of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s death.
I had the sad task of writing one of the many obituaries for Pausch. Within minutes, comments started to come in with a curious grammar like this one from Colleen:
I am real sorry for your loss Jai. Your husband have [sic] inspired me to be a better version of myself. After I heard about Randy's passing, I couldn't help but cry. The whole world is mourning with you.
These comments weren't about Pausch's death. They were addressed to him and his kin, as if Wired.com would convey this message to them. It's as if the internet has joined the angels in our collective imagination of heaven, the CAT-5 winding into the clouds like a beanstalk.
This was strange.
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